


One Coffee, with a Double Shot of You

by AU Mer-Maid (neonstardust)



Series: Dork Drabbles [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Drabble Collection, Fluff? In My Fic? It's More Likely Than You Think, One Shot, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 03:51:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20185804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonstardust/pseuds/AU%20Mer-Maid
Summary: The fastest way to a man's heart is through his overwhelming need for caffeine.





	One Coffee, with a Double Shot of You

There is a ruthless satisfaction that comes from kicking every stone out of his way as Shirabu walks down the sidewalk. Heat beats harshly against his skin, and he bites back the urge to curse at the sun. He hates morning like this. He hates mornings in general and totality.

Pushing open the café door, Shirabu sighs in air-conditioned relief.

“Morning.” A new worker smiles pleasantly from behind the counter. Overhead lights give him a soft, radiant glow, like an angel without wings. On his shirt, a nametag reads Yahaba. “What can I get ya?”

Shirabu rubs his tired eyes; the early morning and his lack of sleep have shot to his head. “I need the strongest coffee you have.”

* * *

Rain pelts Shirabu’s skin. Feet heavy like iron, he pushes open the café door and ducks inside. Of course this happens the one day he forgot his umbrella, the one day he overslept. Shivering, he hugs himself for warmth against the café’s cold air. “Get me a drink as black as my soul.”

Across from him, Yahaba pauses in stacking cups to look him up and down, from the wet clothes clinging to skin to his icy glare. “One milk, coming right up.”

Murder flashes through his eyes, but as Shirabu opens his mouth to yell, Yahaba holds out a steaming coffee cup. Bubbly kanji spells out his name along the side. Accepting the cup, Shirabu takes a hesitant sip, relaxing as the coffee warms his chest. Goodness, he needed this.

Yahaba smiles, smug and confident. Turning away, Shirabu makes sure to leave him a bigger tip than normal.

* * *

“Come on. Come on.” Tapping his foot, Shirabu checks his watch. If he leaves now, he might just make it to class on time, but the thought of facing a history lecture running on only two hours of sleep roots him in place. Irritably, Shirabu shoves his phone in his pocket. Like hell is he going to survive without a turbo shot of caffeine directly into his bloodstream.

One by one, people trickle out until the counter comes into view. “About time,” he sighs.

Silently, Yahaba holds out a coffee cup and a sprinkle cookie. Shirabu raises an eyebrow. “I heard you muttering,” Yahaba explains. “Figured you need some sugar to counteract all that salt.”

Shirabu punches him, but, reluctantly, he accepts the cookie.

* * *

Warm coffee heats Shirabu’s throat, staving off his exhaustion. On the café table, his homework lies abandoned amidst his books and pencils, but he no longer possesses the capacity to care.

Light slips in through the window behind him, shining around Yahaba like he’s an ethereal being cursed to serve muffins as penitence for some greater, probably sarcastic, crime. Idly, Shirabu draws the curve of Yahaba’s smile, the sparkle in his eyes. Napkin after napkin of sketches line the table, capturing him moment by moment. The beginnings of a blush. A warm wave. The wide-eyed, guilty stare of someone who accidentally dropped a blueberry muffin when no one was looking.

Lost in the movement of the pencil in his hand, Shirabu almost doesn’t hear the approaching footsteps, and he quickly shoves the napkins in his backpack just as Yahaba arrives with a coffee refill.

* * *

Shirabu leans against the counter. Before him, Yahaba works the coffee machine, humming a cheery tune. When he glances back, Shirabu quickly drops his gaze to the display case.

“See anything you like?” There’s a teasing lilt to Yahaba’s voice that makes his face burn.

“Your hair looks like one of these cream puffs,” Shirabu mutters. He can feel Yahaba’s gaze on him, and it makes his face grow hotter, ears turning red at the tips.

Yahaba gasps as if affronted, pressing a hand to his chest, and Shirabu can’t help but smile.

Taking his coffee, he pauses. A large heart has been drawn on the side of the cup, with a phone number written inside. Shirabu glances back at Yahaba, but, with a wink, he conveniently leaves to get a fresh batch of cookies.

Hiding a smile, Shirabu quickly saves his number.


End file.
